ON LANGUAGE

By William Safire

Published: December 19, 1982

Vox of Pop Sixpack

Who speaks for the average man? Out of whose mouth comes the voice of the people? A bit of doggerel in the Presidential campaign of 1920, sung by the supporters of James Cox and Franklin Roosevelt, used the Latin term vox populi, for ''voice of the people'': ''Cox or Harding, Harding or Cox?/ You tell us, populi, you got the vox.''

At that time, the chorus of voices that intoned ''Harding and Coolidge'' went under the name of John Citizen for highbrows, Joe Zilch for lowbrows. Curiously, in the naming of Everyman - that ordinary person who supposedly speaks for the community -there has long been a difference between the upper-class John (from the Hebrew ''God is gracious'') and the lower-class Joe (from the Hebrew ''He shall add,'' a considerable comedown from the name John).

John Bull, the personification of England in Dr. John Arbuthnot's 1712 book, was the probable start of it all; in America, Brother Jonathan, possibly Jonathan Trumbull, a friend of George Washington, was the predecessor to Uncle Sam. John's diminutive was used in the Civil War: Johnny Reb. Somewhere along the way, a Q was acquired, possibly from John Quincy Adams, but in the mid-1930's John Q. Public emerged as the form preferred over John Q. Citizen, John Q. Taxpayer, John Q. Voter or, most recently, John Q. Consumer. ''We are all the children of John Q. Public,'' cried William Allen White, editor of The Emporia Gazette, admonishing organized labor in 1937 to avoid setting class against class.

John Doe had something to do with the dignification of the common man. That was the name in English common law for the unknown or fictitious person in legal proceedings; John Doe was the first unknown party, Richard Roe the second, John Stiles the third, Richard Miles the fourth. (A good name for a tenants' association would be Doe, Roe, Stiles & Miles.) This legal use of John as the typical name - buttressed in the United States by the adoption of John Hancock's name as the term for any strong signature - locked in John as the first name of the classier spokesman for vox pop, and was popularized on specimen checks. (In 1735, a cousin John was the Harvard College man's term for a privy, and a john is still a slang term for toilet, but that does not fit my theory.)

Down among the lower classes, Joe was asserting himself. Joe Bunker was an early nickname for an American, replaced in this century by Joe Doakes; in World War II, G.I. Joe had a friend -usually nondescript - named Joe Blow, and a less well-known naval pal, Joe Gish. Joe Schmo is best portrayed by Woody Allen. In specialized usages, Joe College is the typical rah-rah collegian and Joe Cool the typical hipster.

Come now to a press conference after a Business Council meeting in Hot Springs, W. Va. A reporter asks the chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, Paul Volcker, about a change in money-supply figures: ''How do you expect Joe Sixpack should react?'' Replies Mr. Volcker, evidently familiar with the version of Everyman updated to one who buys beer in packs of six bottles or cans: ''I don't think Joe Sixpack should be concerned in the least ... . I think if you give Joe Sixpack that impression you are doing him and the country a disservice.''

Thus, today we have John Q. Public wearing respectable spectacles; Joe Sixpack is sitting in his undershirt looking like Archie Bunker (a descendent of Joe Bunker).

''Joe Sixpack is gender-identified,'' writes Roger Green of Albany, N.Y. ''Are there any gender-neutral classifications, like Leslie Middleclass, Terry Americana?'' No; in all evocations of the little man, it is a little man: The male use embraces the female. There is no Jane Q. Public or Alice Sixpack, just as there never needed to be an Everywoman. Gender Offender

''Republicans Worry About 'Gender Gap,' '' frowned a recent headline. The ostensible problem is the disparity of support for Mr. Reagan between men and women: A far greater percentage of men than women approve of the way he's doing his job. The difference is ''the gender gap.''

The real problem is the misuse of the word gender. Although that word was used in the 18th century to mean sex, it has lost that meaning: Usage has worn gender down to a description of the categories of words, such as masculine and feminine; such classifications are not a big deal in English. But since masculine and feminine are adjectives reeking of sex, therein lies the confusion.

Gender applies to grammar and sex applies to people. As they say over at the rifle association, words aren't sexy, people are. If you have a friend of the female sex, you are a red-blooded American boy; if you have a friend of the feminine gender, you have an unnatural attachment to a word.

''In the text of the equal rights amendment,'' reports Kathy Bonk of the National Organization for Women, ''we had a big problem over the wording of the phrase 'on account of sex.' Some people believed that sex could be construed to mean 'the act of sex,' and that the use of 'gender' would have avoided that. But we stayed with 'sex' because E.R.A. parallels the 19th Amendment and we wanted the language to be parallel.''

But since NOW officials know the right and wrong use of sex and gender, how could the organization issue press releases pointing to ''the gender gap,'' an obvious solecism?

Kathy Bonk made it clear that a mistake in usage is not as bad as a double-entendre: ''Because 'gender gap' did not have the unseemly connotations that 'sex gap' would have had.'' Bad Mistake

In excoriating and humiliating some errant correspondent, I wrote that he had made ''a bad mistake.'' Malcolm Forbes, editor in chief of Forbes magazine and the last of the great balloon enthusiasts, writes: ''I think I've caught the master making one of same. Recently (Safire) referred to something as 'a bad mistake.' There are good mistakes? As Gertrude Stein might have put it, 'A mistake is a mistake is a mistake.' Or, Bill, am I wrong?''

Malcolm, you have not been so wrong since your balloon ran out of air over Peking. First, your paraphrase of Gertrude Stein is inaccurate: She did not write, ''A rose is a rose is a rose''; she wrote, ''Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose,'' and the addition of the first article changes the meaninglessness. But that is neither here nor there (Miss Stein also derogated Oakland, Calif., with ''There's no there there'').

When I, the master, come under usage attack, I run sniveling to a grand master like Jacques Barzun, Everything Emeritus: '' 'Bad mistake' is not redundant,'' he assures me. ''All mistakes are not of one kind. There are unforgivable mistakes, very bad mistakes, slight mistakes, funny mistakes and even happy mistakes which turn out to be advantageous.''

As I started to smile and blow my nose, Professor Barzun added, ''You really ought to do something about the derivation you gave for 'economics.' It is not, as you wrote, 'based on the Greek word for work,' but for house (same as ecumenical). Economics is household management, improbable as the fact may sound.''

I needed that, having been thrown off etymological stride by a ''see economics'' reference in the O.E.D. supplement's entry on ergonomics. A host of Greek scholars (what's the collective for ''Greek scholar''?) has been hooting at me, led by Jose de Vinck of Allendale, N.J., who adds, ''It is a good thing for you that Nemesis, the Greek goddess of vengeance, is long dead.''

That, Malcolm, is the grammatical equivalent of sinking slowly into the arms of irate Communist Chinese: a bad mistake.